Eleanor, naked
engages me in her breathing self.
Laughs at her unbecoming breasts
flattened
laughs, she knows she is not beautiful. I am willing.
( "...best regards, Eleanor." )
I forecast the end already.
What cynical knowledge of selfish men drives me to Eleanor?
She is beautiful enough for me, and naked.
she lay there like a triangle
owning her geometry.
I wake up with silver fingernails
smell her cool-fevered hair dancing in silver circles
I wake up and want to shower right away
recapture the slick of her slippery skin.